


Campfire Crush

by GracefulCharity



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Clothed Sex, Din Djarin's Helmet Stays on During Sex, F/M, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:40:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27566881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GracefulCharity/pseuds/GracefulCharity
Summary: A woman hires the Mandalorian to escort her across the desert. On the way, they set up camp in a rocky canyon and he goes to sleep fully suited in this armour.But is he really asleep?This was not a man of many words; he was a man of gestures and action. If I wanted to communicate with him, it would have to be using his language.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s), Mando/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 44





	Campfire Crush

The Mandalorian didn’t lie down to sleep, but had found a nook in the cliff face to lean against, resting one armoured forearm on a large rock protrusion, and the other by his hip-holstered blaster. His helmet was tilted back slightly and to one side, supported by a boulder, and his legs were stretched out in front of him, pointing towards the remains of our campfire.  
  
All things considered, he looked quite comfortable, but could he really fall sleep like that? Was he asleep already?  
  
From the low vantage point of my bedroll, I inspected the dark slit in the centre of his helmet, as if that would give me a clue. All I saw was the reflection of the dying embers.  
  
“Go to sleep” he said.  
  
I flinched. He didn’t move even a hair.  
  
Somehow it hadn’t occurred to me that he might catch me staring at him. His words had the opposite of the intended effect, of course. As much as I closed my eyes and gathered my blanket around my throat, the shock of his sudden reprimand had startled my weary brain back to full alertness. I could not sleep now.  
  
I rolled onto my side, turning my back to my travel companion, trying to find a position where there no rocks stabbing me in the ribs.  
  
“You can take off your helmet if you want” I said. “I won’t peek.”  
  
“Go to sleep” he said, neither gentler or sterner than the first time.  
  
It was no wonder he was not in the mood for conversation, since I had not seen him eat or drink anything all day. Now, after hours of traveling, he couldn’t even rest properly, keeping all that claustrophobic armour on. My presence was a hassle for him. If he had been alone, out in the middle of the desert, perhaps he could have relaxed a bit, but in the Mandalorian creed, everyone was a threat to be guarded against. That might be why he demanded such a high fee, even though he was already headed my way. He was sacrificing his own comfort.  
  
I didn’t know if his aloof demeanour was part of the creed, of if it was just his personality, or if he had something against me in particular. Still, I wanted to hear his voice more. It had a dry, gravelly quality that made it sound almost like a whisper; both soothing and electrifying. I had been disappointed that our conversation had been so limited for the hours we spent together on the speeder, but I had been happy to wait, thinking we would talk more after setting up camp for the night. No such luck.  
At first I thought I was just bored, but I soon realised that I did not just crave entertainment to fill the silence. I wanted to joke with him, to banter, to flirt. I wanted to close the distance between us. We had spent the whole day in close proximity, and yet he was still a perfect stranger.  
  
Somehow, I was sure he must be sexy. No, that’s not right. He was sexy, regardless of what was underneath all the metal. Strange as it was, I think I liked him because of his hard, unyielding facade, not despite it.  
  
It was hard to imagine how his face could possibly live up to the pure masculinity of his swagger. The way he held his weight, the precise movements of his hands, the subtle tilts of his head. No matter how handsome his face was, it could never have the mystery or allure of having no face at all. With no facial expressions to give himself away, he was inscrutable, and there was something irresistibly masculine about that.  
  
Suddenly I felt too warm. My blanket was stifling me. I kicked it off and turned back over to face the fire. As much as I tried not to stare, my gaze kept being drawn up to the armoured man.  
  
He had not made any sounds of movement for a while. I thought he must surely have been asleep.  
  
I ran my eyes over his body, examining every curve and bulge as I recalled the ease with which had lifted, pushed, and pulled the cargo and munitions he had packed onto the speeder that morning. I wanted him to handle me like that; to pick me up and move me wherever he chose, preferably onto his lap.  
  
This time my unrestrained ogling was not met with a reprimand. Maybe he really was asleep.  
  
Even with my blanket off, the heat of my arousal was becoming uncomfortable. Moving my roll mat away from the fire might have helped, but the commotion of it might have woken the Mandalorian.  
  
Or maybe he was still awake, appraising my body just as I was appraising his. Maybe he was entertaining all the same fantasies that I was, but he was too mistrustful and cautious to act on them.  
  
The idea took root in my mind. The more I thought about it, the deeper it burrowed.  
  
It was silly, really. The Mandalorian had shown no interest in me or my body since I approached him about this job. Actually, it was the opposite. He seemed to avoid looking in my direction whenever possible, like he was actively ignoring me. By doing that, he was acknowledging my existence, paradoxically.  
  
The realisation was encouraging. I was not a 'nothing' to him, I was a 'something'; a 'someone'. Maybe a temptation?  
He was a man. He had needs, just like any other warm-blooded male. Being a cold bastard did not make him immune to desire. In fact, being alone for so long would surely have heightened his need for physical intimacy.  
  
We would arrive at Mos Eisley the next day, and part ways as agreed. There would be no opportunity after this. I would never forgive myself if I didn't at least try. Seriously try, using what I know about him to my advantage.  
  
Flirting hadn't worked. He wouldn't even let me get started. This was a man of few words; a man of gestures and action. If I wanted to communicate with him, it would have to be using his language.  
  
I started with the belt of my tunic, reaching for it slowly, but purposefully. With a gentle tug, the knot loosened and the tension around my waist was released.  
  
The Mandalorian remained completely still and silent. The black slit of his visor was as impenetrable as ever.  
  
Even so, the idea that he might be secretly watching me was exhilarating. My thighs squeezed together involuntarily, sending a twinge through my centre.  
  
I grasped the neck of my tunic and pulled it up, over my head, until the garment was completely removed. The cool night air tickled the exposed skin of my torso and my nipples started to harden. Compared to the coarse fabric of my tunic, the contact of my own arms against my body felt smooth and supple.  
  
Still, the Mandalorian did not move.  
  
If he was asleep, I could do no harm by continuing. If he was awake, he must have been watching. My heart hammered in my chest.  
I pushed one of my hands into my hair while the other traced over my stomach, up the side of my rib cage, then traced a circle around one breast. My touch left my skin tingling and hardened the nipple further and tightened my breast into a pleasantly round shape. I did the same to the other, then traced a line down the between them, down and down, all the way to my waistband.  
  
All this, while gazing at the horizontal aperture of the Mandalorian’s visor, where I hoped his eyes were taking in the curves of my body.  
  
Just when I was about to give up, and conclude he was asleep, he lifted his head and turned slightly to face me directly. The simple movement punched all the air out of my lungs. The glow of triumph, the ignition of my lust, and the cold thrill of fear all overwhelmed me at once.  
  
Suddenly I realised how unwise my seduction had been. I knew nothing of the man across from me, except that he was an expert in killing. We had exchanged only a handful of words, most of which I had spoken myself.  
  
The helmet slit gazed steadily at me as I tried to stop my head spinning long enough to decide a course of action.  
  
I didn’t know if I trusted him or not, but I couldn’t possibly turn back after he looked at me like that.  
  
“Are you interested?” I breathed, desperate to hear any confirmation that I was not imagining the atmosphere between us.  
  
He only inclined his head by an inch or two, but in that nod he said more than enough.  
  
I thought my heart might explode from the rate it was pounding. Apprehensions be damned, I could not deny what my body was begging for.  
  
Somehow, I managed to get to my feet without my knees giving way and padded over to where he waited, still reclined against the rocks.  
The angle of his head tracked my movement, and I held his gaze as well as I could, growing in confidence as I felt the intensity of his undivided attention. Instead of feeling ashamed of my nakedness, I started to feel powerful. I would have removed my lower garments too to command even more of his attention, but I decided to leave those for him to remove himself.  
  
When I reached his feet, still wearing his heavy boots, I crouched down and crawled over his legs to reach him. We came face-to-face, and only inches apart, but still not touching any parts of our bodies. I had the impulse to kiss him, on his lips or his neck, but there was no opening anywhere.  
  
He may have felt something similar, because he pulled off one of his gloves and caressed my cheek with his bare hand. The pads of his fingers were calloused, and my skin prickled where he touched it, along my jawline, under my chin, and then across my lips with his thumb. I kissed it, and cupped the wide span of his hand in mine. I treasured the sensation of his knuckles and tendons moving beneath his warm skin, and kissed each one. Then ensued a delicate dance of my skin, against his skin, against my lips, more sensual than any meeting of tongues I had ever experienced.  
  
His still-gloved hand rose to explore my body with less tenderness. His grip was strong and rough, squeezing at my breast, coaxing a moan from my throat. Then he was grasping a handful of my rear, pulling me against his chest plate and lifting my weight off my knees, making me yelp in surprise. I knew he was strong, but it was almost alarming how easily he manoeuvred my body to his will.  
  
He guided my hips to sit directly on his crotch, where his eagerness was in evidence. The feel of him pressed between my thighs sent a bolt of sweet pleasure through me and I heard myself whimper. The Mandalorian‘s modulator crackled briefly with static in what could have been a sigh of approval.  
  
“How do we...?” I started, unwilling to finish the question and sully the moment with inadequate words. “Can we?”  
  
The gloved hand ran down my spine and under my waistband, pulling it down as he traced the inside of my thigh, all the way down to my knee.  
  
His helmet tilted down at my newly exposed region.  
  
“I think we can.” It sounded like he was smiling.  
  
Whether he was my species or not, it was a relief that we were at least we were physically compatible.  
  
After a quick fumble, his belt fell onto the rocks with a heavy clatter and he was soon freed, but only just enough for what we needed. I looked down and chewed my lip. He was, most definitely, compatible.  
  
His hands cradled my face, one warm and coarse, the other cold and smooth still in its glove. He gently tilted my chin up to face him.  
Even with his visor less than an inch away, I could still see nothing through it.  
  
He held my head in place as I lowered myself onto him. For someone incapable of broadcasting his facial expressions, he was surprisingly interested in seeing mine.  
  
I started slow, supporting myself with my palms against the hard metal chest plate, getting accustomed to him gradually. When I got down to his hilt there was another crackling sigh, this time louder and longer. The sound reached deep inside me and stirred my loins. It urged me on to move faster, and clench harder, in the hope of hearing it again.  
I barely even noticed the sounds I was making myself, or the facial expressions I was treating the Mandalorian to.  
  
He filled me wonderfully, and he knew just how to jerk his hips to hit the sweet spot with each thrust. Whatever sense of control I had felt slipped away quickly as I devolved into a panting, mewling slave to my armoured lord.  
  
He moved his hands down to my waist, where he could lift me up and push me down at his own pace. I willingly submitted and coiled my arms around his neck, hugging his helmet to my shoulder.  
When my pleasure approached its peak, I was clinging to him so fiercely the edges of his armoured plates dug into my naked skin. I held fistfuls of his cloak behind his back and pulled him closer, headless of the pain, or whatever bruises I might have in the morning.  
  
He grunted, softly, then louder, rutting into me with his full length before shuddering to a halt.  
  
His muffled cries of pleasure sent me toppling over the edge.  
We rode out the crashing waves together in a hot, tangled mess until we collapsed, exhausted, against the rocks. As I gulped down air, I could hear him doing the same. It bolstered at my pride, knowing that I was the cause of the legendary warrior’s temporarily reduced state. It tugged at my heart, too, knowing that he trusted me enough to see him like this. Even with his armour on, he seemed vulnerable.  
  
When I found enough breath, I spoke up. “I wasn’t joking before. You can wash yourself and eat something. I’ll respect your privacy.”  
“Don’t worry, I’m used to it” he murmured.  
  
“You can put a blindfold on me or whatever you need. Seriously, it’s the least I could do.”  
  
He didn’t respond right away, but twisted his neck to look at my face. I tried to look as earnest as I felt.  
  
“If you insist” he said, letting his head fall back again.  
\---  
Anyway, that’s how I ended up blindfolded and handcuffed to the speeder, parked behind a sand dune, with nothing but my memories to keep me company.  
  
It’s been quite a while now and I’m worried The Mandalorian might have fallen asleep, or else that he’s got a twisted sense of humour.  
At least he can’t leave without the speeder, so he has to come back for me eventually. When he does, I hope he’ll let me hear what his voice sounds like without the helmet on, before he takes off my blindfold. I bet he has a great voice.


End file.
